


Perfection

by saltandlimes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 33 Day Guro Challenge, Hux is a narcissist, I liked it, Kylo is definitely obsessed with hux, Kylux Hard Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Piercings, Ren is horribly insecure, but w/e, this is not really guro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Kylo has ever wanted is to be better, to be <i>right</i>. And Hux, well, Hux is an idol, set on a pedestal that Kylo can never reach. Hux is flawless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this prompt](http://kyluxhardkinks.tumblr.com/post/145883271275/piercings-either-of-kylo-or-hux-and-ill-submit) on KyluxHardKinks a _long_ time ago and wanted to write for it. And now the guro challenge has given me a chance.
>
>> Piercings, either of Kylo or Hux.
> 
> Art by @artyaouter! 

It's an accident, really, that Kylo finds out. The Supreme Leader calls an emergency meeting and he's just coming by Hux's quarters to collect him before it. That's all, really. He doesn't mean to pry into Hux's personal life – didn't actually think the General had one. 

But now that he knows, he can't stop thinking about it. 

About them. 

Bent over, panting, muscles screaming in the middle of a training session, he thinks about them. Wonders when Hux had them done. Wonders why the General keeps them in, even now. He can imagine the younger Hux, fresh out of the academy, flushed with freedom, wandering into a grimy shop on some backwater Outer Rim planet, hands trembling, face flushed. Pointing out what he wants done, letting them slide narrow needles through those flat nipples, push bars after them.

Kylo's still panting.

But now it's not from exertion. 

It's from the remembered look of those pretty, bright flashes as he walked in on Hux changing, on the sight of Hux's pale, pale skin, the flush that just barely spread across it as he turned to see Kylo standing there. 

The utter lack of shame. 

And why would Hux ever be ashamed to stand there, naked from the waist up, perfect? Kylo straightens. He's still breathing hard, standing there in the center of one of the mirrored practice rooms. His soft training pants are not as forgiving as his robes, and he glances down, sees the bulge that stretches them across his hips, too tight. Flushes. Who is he to think about Hux like this?

And yet...

He can't stop. 

Not even later, back in his room. No, there he kneels on the floor, tries to quiet his mind, wash away Hux's narrow, soft waist, so unlike his own. Wipe himself clean of the wonder, the awe. But he's never seen anything like it before, never wanted to press searching fingers into yielding flesh, to move them over and thumb at metal and skin. 

***

It doesn't get any better. Kylo expects, after a few days, to forget about it. Or perhaps not to forget – there's nothing that could make him forget about the sight of the premier General of the First Order, nipples pierced with thin titanium bars, half exasperated, staring back at him. 

But he doesn't expect this. 

Doesn't expect that every moment he closes his eyes, there will be this burning feeling of inadequacy, settling deep in the pit of his stomach. Could not have guessed how Hux's slight smile would haunt him. 

It's not as though Kylo is unacquainted with the fact that _General Hux is perfect._ He's known that for a long time. Perhaps since Hux stood next to him, stared back at Snoke with disagreement writ large on his face, bold as could be. Perhaps since Hux dragged him, half conscious, leaking blood, damaged, back to his shuttle as Starkiller collapsed around them. Perhaps since Hux's laughing command to “just get rid of them” when a group of captured Resistance fighters refused to break. 

Perhaps forever.

He thinks, now, that maybe even before Jakku he knew. That maybe all his private hatred, secret thoughts of Hux's inadequacy were nothing more than a smokescreen, nothing except envious rage against a being far greater than he can ever be. 

It doesn't really matter though. 

No, what matters is that Hux, standing there, chest bare, has confirmed it for him. And that now, with the knowledge of Hux's perfection in his mind, Kylo can't ignore it. 

So he watches. 

Desperately. 

Stands, half-hidden, in the gym while Hux runs endless miles on a treadmill, hoping against hope that Hux will overheat, pull his shirt off in frustration. Lurks in the showers as Hux brushes by, heaves a disappointed sigh when Hux walks, still glistening with sweat, back to his quarters. 

Curls in his bed at night and imagines. 

Sometimes, he thinks of what it would feel like to get to stroke trembling fingers over Hux's chest, press his tongue against those markings. 

But, more often than not, he wonders what they feel like. He can't help but think of how Hux's stiff uniform undershirt must rub against them every day. He likes to think of the General's nipples, peaked up and stiff, as Hux strides across a meeting room floor, outlining some new plan to defeat the Resistance once and for all. Or Hux, chest heaving with exertion, passion, screaming a speech to the troopers while he's half hard from the feeling of those little barbells in his chest. 

He wonders if it ever becomes too much, if Hux ever has to duck away, sneak into a fresher to pinch and tug at them, to wrap a delicate hand around his cock and stroke himself hard and fast. 

It seems unlikely. Hux is perfect, and he is not Kylo. Kylo would never be able to bear it, that he knows. He's not strong enough, too easily gives in to his whims. There is, he knows, a difference between hedonism and the release of emotion the Dark demands. It's walking the line between the two that makes him tremble, tempted, troubled. 

Hux would never have trouble with that. 

No, Hux would never sit here, head hanging, trembling with envy and desire. He is stronger than that. 

***

It takes ten days. That's all. Ten days before Kylo finally gives into the temptation. 

It's an argument that pushes him over the edge, of course. Because, Kylo thinks later, there is nothing that could possibly have proved how much better than him Hux is than this. 

“...use the training facilities.” Hux is fuming, face slightly flushed, and all Kylo can think about is how beautiful he is like this, controlled, furious. But he screws himself up tight, flattens his voice. He can't let Hux see yet another mark of his weakness, his utter inadequacy. 

“I will not be lectured to by you, Hux. I have perfect liberty to use this ship as I see fit.”

“Don't be a child, Ren. All I'm asking is that you reserve time, as every other member of this crew does. As I do.” And Kylo has a retort ready, a reminder that he is not a member of Hux's precious crew, not one of those officers who would lick the grime from Hux's boots for a single chance to talk to their General alone. But then, then Hux takes a deep breath, swells out that narrow chest, pushes it forward. 

And all Kylo can think about is how that must feel. 

How the fabric slides across Hux's nipples, pebbling them. How Hux's face does not chance, nothing shifting. How he must be so tempted, yet shows nothing. And Kylo gasps, lightheaded. Skin prickling with sudden arousal. Stomach roiling with shame. The concoction thick in his blood, cock twitching in his robes. Too familiar, from all the nights he's given in, slid a hand over his dick, imagined Hux's face as he comes. 

He flushes, dips his head, so out of control. 

“Y-you're right. I'll do better.” And it's all he can do to bite back the pleading tone, to stop himself from pouring out apologies onto Hux's waiting feet, flattening himself there to beg Hux's forgiveness. Hux looks shocked for a moment, but then he's turning on his heel, leaving. Because Hux is not weak, does not stand there trembling, as Kylo does. 

And so it's that night, when Kylo has hidden himself away in his quarters, that he finally pulls out the supplies he'd gathered in a fit of shame just a few days ago. The long, thin needle, the barbells, pilfered from a cash hidden deep in the stormtrooper quarters. The sterile spray, the gauze. 

He's crosslegged in front of the mirror he hides behind a curtain most of the time – no need to see his face, even when alone. But he's glad, now that he hasn't broke it before, shattered it into little pieces in a fit of rage. Because he sits in front of it, breathes deep. 

He can do this. 

He's read about it, about how he should be lying down, prone in case he faints. He won't faint. He's suffered far worse than this. 

The spray is cool as he cleans the first nipple, peaks it up with a pinch of fingers just a little too hard, twists it so that it throbs. And then he's holding it in two fingers, needle in the other hand. Sliding the needle through his flesh with one sharp punch. 

And it's not as bad as he imagined, but then he draws the barbel back through himself in the wake of the needle and pain courses through him, sharp and sweet. Fluttering, flickering through him as though the most piquant citrus on his tongue, the thickest honey coating his mouth. His hands tremble as he screws the ball that caps the barbell on. And he's read about how he should do these one at a time, should wait for one to heal. How it is easier that way. 

But he can't wait. 

And his hands still shake as he takes up the gauze, wipes away the blood dribbling down his chest. Runs a finger through it and licks it clean. And then he's turning to the other side, pulling at his chest, a deep breath as he feels arousal coursing through him, filling him up to bursting. 

He's almost in a dream as he slides the needle in again, watches as silver gleams through him. A shuddering mass of need, nothing more, no though. 

He sprawls back, scrabbles at his pants. Wrenches them off, too tight now, constricting. Hiding away what he needs. Then his cock bobs free, and there is nothing left in his mind but the ache of his chest, the rippling pulse of pain, the trembling need. 

The first caress of his fingers on his dick has him arching off the floor, spread out clumsily in a paroxysm of need. His balls are already twitching, achingly full. And he should stretch this out, should use this feeling, lean through it until he comes in a rush of blinding pleasure. But he can't wait. Not with the buzz in his veins. And he desperately wants to thumb across his chest, press into those shining signs that – maybe – bring him a little closer to Hux's perfection. But he knows he can't. Hux would never do something so stupid, play with a new piercing, ruin what he's just done. 

So he holds back from that. 

But not from spitting into his hand, stroking lighting fast across his cock, grip almost too tight. Back and forth, need coursing through him with every jerk of his fist. Gasping as he imagines Hux's face, his narrow shoulders, that soft chest with its beautiful decorations. Kylo wonders what it would be like to get to stroke a single finger across Hux's chest. If Hux might ever deign to let him suck a single flat, pink nipple into his mouth, run his tongue over those pretty bars. 

And he's arching up at that, at the thought of Hux running a hand through his hair, pulling Kylo's head closer. Murmuring words of praise as Kylo sucks bruises onto his pale, smooth skin. 

His come is sticky as it spurts out across his chest, streaking it white to match the red that's dried there. 

And Kylo wants to be sick. Hux would never stoop to this, to stroking himself off, flopped on the floor of his quarters, needy, desperate. Kylo is just a poor copy, just an inadequate imitation. 

***

Hux kneels in front of the mirror in his quarters, as he does most nights. He's naked, a little sweaty after the long day on the bridge, pacing, ordering the universe. He's beautiful, he thinks. When he was younger, before he came to understand things better, he'd hated this body that he's been given. How, no matter what he does, he cannot get rid of the softness of his stomach. Never layer muscle on his narrow arms.

He laughs a little as he stares into the mirror. 

How wrong he was. Because this is beautiful, perfection. 

And he runs a careful hand down his side, feels at his own skin, strokes over his legs, long, thin, gorgeous. Traces a careful line up his chest to thumb at the piercings through his nipples. They peak up, and he smiles at himself in the mirror. There's a flush spreading across his cheeks, and he likes how bright his eyes shine back at him. He adores it. 

He brings his hand up a little more, traces over the line of his chin, fingers his lips. Sides his thumb inside. And his mouth is so pretty, stretched over his fingers, plump, sensual. His hair has fallen down across his forehead, and he looks, Hux thinks, almost debauched. 

His other hand is playing through the hair that trails up his belly, a thin line of it leading to where his cock nestles, hard, curving upward. It's a pretty cock, Hux knows. So pretty, and he runs through the people who have knelt before him, begging to suck it down. 

None have been this beautiful, that he knows.

A drop of precome leaks out, and Hux groans around the finger still in his mouth. And he's wrenching it free to stroke at his dick, spit trailing in a long line after it. His palm is warm as he cups around his balls, lifts them a little. Watches as his abs clench, jumping, muscle moving almost unseen. Looks on as his thighs tremble just the slightest bit at the pleasure that's running up and down his spine to settle high at the base of his skull. 

Strokes harder. 

Because he wants to see himself come, now. Wants to see how his body spasms, the way his mouth hangs open, face twisting in pleasure. And he's getting closer, each stroke tipping him further and further towards that beautiful point where he wants to slam his eyes closed, but forces them open, forces himself to watch. 

And there it is, pleasure cresting through him, panting on the floor of his room, crouched in front of the mirror that hangs there, always uncovered, always reflecting him. 

And he is perfect. 

***

It's almost an accident. 

That's what Kylo tells himself when Hux finally catches him. He didn't plan this, genuinely forgot his promise to reserve room in the practice rooms in the aftermath of that argument. So when Hux barges in on him while he's training, righteous fury dripping from every pore, he hasn't actually set this up. 

“Ren. We just talked about this. I cannot...” And then Kylo turns around, faces Hux. And Hux stares. Stares for long moments that make Kylo blush, shame darkening his cheeks. Because now Hux knows, knows how pitiful he truly is. 

“Ren. _What are those?_ ” Hux's voice is oddly soft, sibilant. Kylo swallows, throat convulsing. 

“I.. uh..” Hux looks at him expectantly, and suddenly it's all pouring out. “I saw yours. I... Hux... I just want to be... you're... it's perfection, control. I mean... you are.” And there it is, out, and he dips his eyes to the ground, can't bear to keep looking as Hux rejects him. 

There's a soft hand under his chin, glove gone. His face being tipped up. And Hux is too close, breath hot on Kylo's skin. 

“Perfection, you say? Ren, Kylo, I don't think I've ever heard you say something wholly true before.” And Hux _smiles_. Something warm slides through Kylo, shivers through him as Hux moves a hand to run through his hair, tugs lightly at it. 

“Did you want a little of that for yourself? Did you think it would make you better, imitating me?” Hux's voice is mocking, chiding. Kylo flushes further. “Oh Ren, silly, silly Kylo. You should have come to me.” Kylo nods. Hux is right. Hux is always right. 

Hux slides a thumb across his cheekbone, touch light, almost a caress. And in that moment, Kylo knows. Knows he will do anything Hux asks, will carry out any duty, if only to get to stand here, to kneel at Hux's feet. 

To stare into this face, faultless.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would literally not exist without [@artyaouter](http://artyaourter.tumblr.com/) As always, thank you, dear.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@saltandlimes](http://saltandlimes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Bonus scene:
> 
> He looks down, disconsolate. 
> 
>  
> 
> _“I have to take them out Kylo. You understand, don't you, baby?” He'd nodded, tears caught in his eyes as Hux stroked slow over his face. He understood. Hux knew best. He always knows best. And he was right. Hux can do them better, make Kylo a little less broken._
> 
>  
> 
> The sight of his chest, bare, empty, it's hard, breaking. But it's been months, three. And he's finally healed, fixed from his mistake. And Hux has promised. 
> 
>  
> 
> _“When you heal up, I'll do it again. Do it right this time. I'll hold you through it, so you can see me do it in the mirror. I promise.”_
> 
>  
> 
> Kylo had moaned at that, and he feels it even now, the delight that Hux cares. That it matters enough to Hux that he'd taken out the old piercings, is going to put in new ones, better one. That Hux is even willing to touch him. That he is lucky enough to have Hux near him.


End file.
